The distance was painful. My ancestors could travel the world as quickly as others might snap their fingers, but it was no longer as easy for those of us who remain. I felt the wind around me, tugging at my cape, contorting it into strange shapes around my body. The gushing air brought me no relief from the damp chill soaking into me, under my skin. I knelt, bowing before the expanse of ruins of the Capital City Kadessa. I clawed at the rocks of the unyielding stone streets before me, trying to grip the world. I was not even within the real storm yet; that stood before me. By the starlight, I could see the spirals of wind, earth, and water. The three elements together. The world itself in the form of chaos. What I felt was only a ripple.

If the Winglies residents had not perished in the Great War, they would have mocked my pathetic, bent over form. I kept the cloak on me. It would protect me from the flying pieces of debris. I normally prefer not to don the cape when I can do without, when the eyes of enemies are far away.

My exhaustion meant that a permanent magical shield dwelt in the world of dreams.

Elegant towers loomed over my path. If I took a certain turn, it would lead to the area where Diaz and I had met three years ago. It was he who had told me the secret of this place. We had discussed many things that day. Things that must be done in order the world to be as it should.

The tornadoes threw me more times than I care to admit. Mud cushioned my falls and pulled me in like a lover's embrace. I have said that I walked across the Forbidden Land, far enough to lose myself if I had not been sure of the way. But that is not precisely true. I was obligated to wade through ash, crumbled stones, and swirling dust as though I swam through the earth. The storm pushed me backwards, as if driving me from the object I sought. Nature is an oft-underestimated enemy. It can also be an effective protector. The Wingly sorcerers were clever enough to know when they needn't be.

The eye of the storm brought relief. In the middle of the tempest the earth lay calmly around me. Rubble from decaying buildings rained down from the folds of my cloak. Their steady downward procession reminded me of sand falling in an hourglass and the relentless passing of time. The world around me seemed to turn as though I were seeing it through glass. No sound met my ears save that of swirling storm winds. The air whispered like restless souls. For the moment I regarded a touch of light at the horizon. It was far from enough to make my next task easier, but it was enough to remind me of the hour. In Serdio we were to have a meeting early in the morning to discuss the effect of the deluge on the army. I would need to have time to wash myself of the dirt and blood.

Then I focused on my destination. The weather had uncovered a lost section of Kadessa. The vanished buildings were being quickly excavated by the rare storm patterns. I needed to access only one. Although the surrounding neighborhood yet lay beneath the wreckages of the Campaign, the temple had already been released from its earthen tomb. Its ancient beauty glimmered like a distant constellation.

The first thing I needed were the rocks. I harvested enough stones to make an altar. The mages thought quite highly of themselves, it seemed. I had to rip the largest ones from the nearby shells of homes and educational centers. My fingers plunged repeatedly and the structure rose in turn. The task was completed quickly enough. We work much faster than humans, which is ironic given that they are the ones who have so little time in this world.

I verified the dimensions once more. It would not do to have any additional consequences for building the wrong size. Afterwards, I stretched my arm out from beneath the shelter of my cape and held it steady for the offering. With my other hand I took up my sword. Because I always kept my weapons sharp, it was easy for me to slide it through my skin. The cold kiss of metal released a wave of redness.

From those with great desire, much is required.

I held the wound above the altar. My blood poured onto it as a living sacrifice. A large mouth opened to receive the libation; teeth of stone, flesh of sand, breathe of blood. I had not deprived myself a great amount of fluid at this point, but I had already begun to wax poetic.

Absurdly, I imagined a giant tongue, ready to lick at my bleeding arm. It was only for an instant; I refused to concentrate on it. The enemies of the mind can easily show themselves to be powerful if one gives them permission.

My blood flowed slowly along the rocks as though weighted by all of the years that held it, then more rapidly- like a runner who knows the goal approaches. It disappeared into an underground reservoir. A great clanking noise signaled the opening of the temple's ancient lock system.

I passed through ancient gates and beneath jeweled arches.

As I entered a bone-littered outer courtyard great pieces of stone in the forms of mortal and immortal creatures descended around me. They were stone animals and rock-hewn creations of legendary beings. They were bears and fire-salamanders, whales and satyrs. My teachers had taught me their magical weaknesses of each animal, but to what end? I could not weave a tapestry of charms for enemies of stone.

Those who had brought these creatures to life were true masters. They moved with unnatural speed and coordination.

The smaller ones were formed from limestone, a relatively soft type of rock. They broke easily. Only a few of the other statues were truly dangerous, and that was only due to my travel weakened state and the blood loss.

The remains of the previous seekers watched my battle with the stone guards. I lured three of them into crashing together, exploding as one into a cloud of hard feathers and legs and tails.

Against another opponent I pushed my body into a speed that made the rocks nearly stand still. From there I hefted a broken shard of its brethren and hammered it into nothingness.

A bear of the Serdian forests remained upright among the littered parts. I alighted on his shoulders. The carved fur provided sufficient purchase. I used both hands to twist its massive head until it cracked and crumbled. The headless body continued to fight against me, so I leaped skyward. When I landed, my force dashed the bear through the layers of infrastructure. The upper half of its body raked at me with stone claws before I broke off the paws. Then I dismembered it. The magic was still. The witch who had brought these statues to life had surely died many ages ago. Now her last echo was silent.

The empty sockets of a mostly intact humanoid skull leered at the fractured remains of a stone gargoyle. Perhaps the owner could rest more peacefully now that his killers had been vanquished.

I continued. The outer court led the innards of the deserted house of worship. Here the remains of my people's lost culture lay exposed. Before, I had seen the temple's most recent guests; this was its past. Pieces of artwork depicted the former glory. Statues of Winglies lorded over lesser races of Gigantos, Minitos, humans, and others. Plaques explained the significance of each figure, but I could not read the words upon the walls. Because I had never had religious parents the holy writ was only vaguely comprehensible. The great hall culminated in a wall that was covered with a painting of the confident Archangel. But that was not the end. I knew that what I sought lay beyond.

I powered glyphs onto the wall. This shape, that color, these symbols, now those. The glyphs burned cool lights onto the walls and myself. They vibrated with electricity. These types of spells are not easy for me to perform, but I had been prepared for this task. The spells opened a door which had been hidden by magic, location, and time. The sand-filled room that had been revealed was dark, empty, and pulsated with unseen life. Large mounds of sand undulated as though strong winds formed grainy waves upon the ground, but the air was still.

I felt a chill in my bones. This room was alive.

I hesitated at the threshold. My shadow waited with me. Its presence told me that dawn had almost arrived. It was time for me to leave. The sword would have to wait.

When I returned, someone was waiting in my room. My blood seemed to turn into sharp pieces of ice as I looked at the still figure which stood over the empty bed. I felt behind me for the door handle a moment before the visitor turned around and saw me. "Greetings," said an elderly servant. He reminded me of someone, but I could not think of who it might be.

"Good morning," my reply was a bit too quick.

"You must startle a great many people if you often enter rooms as quietly as that."

He seemed to think that I had merely left and returned quietly as any other man might do. It was not, after all, very common for humans to suspect one another of magical apparitions. But I wondered if the servant had a suspicion that he might share with someone of high rank. The man was very old. Mightn't his sudden death seem to be an unsurprising stroke of mortality?

"Yes, Sir. That has happened before." An uncomfortable flutter of the old man's facial muscles told me that I had addressed him incorrectly. He was kind enough not to speak of it.

"I hope that I am not disturbing you," he said in a tone that told me that had indeed been his intention.

"I am here to show you the way to the council meeting room." He moved toward the door. "And as we walk, I can tell you a bit about what to expect." His offer seemed genuine. But, surely my body stank of exertion. Humans may not be renowned for the sense of smell, but their vision was sharp enough. A meeting of this sort might last for hours, and here would be far too many eyes for a bloodstain on my shoes, or chin, or gloves to go unseen. If a general should sit in on the meeting and discover my state in the presence of the king I would be taken for... perhaps for what I am.

I kept my face calm though I knew most of it was hidden beneath my hood. "Could you perhaps show me a cleansing room instead?"

"Of course." He inclined his head. "I will lead you to the one on this floor."

After sluicing water across my skin, I allowed the servant to lead me to a council chamber though I already knew its location.

I walked down the corridor stomping loudly in order to sound human. The damp smell of rain-soaked bricks seeped inside of the castle.

For the first meeting I knew it would be wise to listen and watch the steps of the dance. The other side was also affected by the deluge as well, therefore there was no fear of attack and we could take our time to prepare.

The king was already there. After bowing and greeting him, I looked for a secret entrance, one that perhaps led directly to the royal chambers, but the room seemed, at least initially, to be honest. The men within were otherwise. Many of the cabinet members were clearly much older than the monarch. Some, I knew, had been councilors when King Albert's father ruled Serdio. They had known His Majesty since he was very young and I suspected that they continued to view him through the lens of childhood. I decided that the role I would play would be that of a man who respected the king for himself and not solely for his rank. I estimated that with this method I would be able to eventually gain a greater measure of his trust.

The minister of finance congratulated His Majesty for his wisdom. The coffers were not entirely empty this time. It was possible that not many peasants would starve during the lean winter. The king assured us that he was ready to empty the royal granaries if necessary.

We heard the number of soldiers – estimations of the casualties that would have to be suffered in order to gain control of this area or another.

The elderly Kelosh, minister of diplomacy, was no longer among us, but his son eagerly reminded us of the offers and demands that Emperor Doel had recently made. It seemed to me that he had an unusual sympathy for the Sandorans. Perhaps I was not the only one with divided loyalties.

By the end of the meeting I was fairly certain that I had identified the factions of my fellow councilors. There were those from the era of the father who had inherited their position and believed that their experience made them more qualified to make decisions for the kingdom than the king himself. The other group was made up of the newer blood who were selected by King Albert. I was in their number. I could tell who was on which side mostly by their age, though there were some older members like Minister Noish who seemed to have true affection and loyalty to the king.

Even though I was not expected to contribute much to my first meeting, towards the end I sprinkled a few words which were cordially received.

After the meeting, we witnessed the training of the newest recruits. The young soldiers wore loose clothing and no armor as they stretched through the warm-ups. Though this was an official training session, the fact that it was also a holiday was not forgotten.

The first knights led these young ones in various exercises while we councilors observed. They lunged and parried, panted and dodged and blocked invisible enemies. As the training passed from very basic to more complex, older soldiers chose to take part.

When another lithe young man's tall frame passed through the wide doorway, the room paused. Many mouths pulled the air into a tense gasp of surprise. Then shy grins shattered frozen expressions. The king nodded politely and smiled encouragingly before placing himself into formation. He tried to act as though he were no more than another pawn on the board of a battlefield. The others were carefully nonchalant, though there was no way to conceal an inherent awkwardness.

The captain of the First Knighthood led them all in a series of movements which simulated a fight against two opponents. He was a gust of muscled power and precise control as he demonstrated kicks and punches. His majesty imitated the knight's forms with cool, fluid motions.

As the men stopped for a break, we onlookers quietly showed our appreciation. I drifted over to a small group of young fighters. Though I wished to, I certainly could not ask to battle them, however, I relished a chance to discuss their techniques. At my approach, one of them halted and looked at me with a stare as sharp as the weapon gripped in his hand. Cold gazes from the rest soon followed. I drew away from them and looked back at the monarch.

King Albert and Sir Lavitz lifted weapons from the racks on the wall. The metal shone with the reflected light of chandelier flames. Then the two men slid away to a side room. They probably wished to spar together and it would have been improper for the other soldiers to see hands laid upon their king. I had no doubt as to which of the two would win the sparring session.

The king's absence brought a more relaxed attitude to the rest of practice.

I tried to join the younger Kelosh and one of the other councilors, but as I arrived they turned their speech from the standard form into an inscrutable Western dialect.

I caught myself looking back to the closed door of the adjoining training room, then I left the gymnasium. I walked alone through the castle, memorizing its turns and its contents. When for the fourth time I met the painting that the king had shown me, I retired to my room until it was time for supper in the main dining hall.

Dinner was an unorganized gathering. The ranking system was utterly muddy. Some officials were here, some councilors were there. It was a jumble of nonsensical hierarchy. Doel insisted upon predictable order in his subjects. Some of his people were not fond of his overt displays of authority, but as I searched for the proper seating of someone of my rank I began to miss his surety.

A knight with a familiar face who for some unknown reason sat near the king himself, subtly motioned me to a seat across from him. Plates filled with brightly colored leaves and succulent, plump fruit lay temptingly on all of the tables.

Sir Lavitz reached for his food so I tasted mine. Rich earthy tones splashed against my teeth, but they turned bitter on my tongue as I noticed the stares. The faces surrounding me sneered and snickered; none was more satisfied than that of Lavitz. I had neglected to wait for the king to eat first. Noticing my predicament, the king raised his metal cup and toasted me as though we had both planned this deviation of propriety. I kept my features still, but my eyes were blazing beneath the dark hood.

I took my anger with me from the dinner table. I nurtured it while I waited in the small stone room. When I went back to the hidden room of the lost temple, I unleashed my fury on the moving lump of sand.

A mammoth desert wyrm frothed to the surface. Some say they never stop growing. If that is true, this one showed what could happen if a wyrm were permitted to become as old as any nation and as large as any building in them.

Many eyelids opened to squint down at me. An abyss yawned out of its great maw as it spread its rotting teeth. I sprinted away from its lunging bites. A sound like sucking wind filled the darkness. That creature was truly pathetic. The stone guardians had been a clever work of magic. This thing had long outlived its usefulness. The rushing noise that filled my ears and vibrated the room was the wheezing of the wyrm's single lung. I stabbed and sliced its fleshy corpulence, leaving a squishy remain. I should have felt remorse for its death. In my future, even animals would exist in peace as all life deserved.

Once the wyrm's life was extinguished and the last convulsions had ceased, the sand beneath me trembled and the room shook. A stone platform rose from the ground. A block of obsidian stood in front of me. I spoke its true name and the rock shifted, twisted, melted as flames burst forth. A sword replaced the black rock.

Silence waited with me as I gazed upon the Dragon Buster. Its fiery blade was fashioned from sorcery, conceived in myth, and born of legend. My hands perspired against my gloves so I took them off and reverently gripped the twisted hilt. A strange cloud of foreboding almost made me draw away from the fruit of years of research. It nearly made me leave behind something that my own blood had purchased. Almost.

When I touched the weapon it burned a freezing trail through my blood. My head quaked and my sight blurred as visions flashed through my eyes. Dragons and riders, silver wings, savage many-colored eyes. I tried to throw the sword, to cast aside the weapon that attacked its own bearer. But my hands could not release it. The skin on my palms and fingers seemed to melt into the cold handle. My joints cracked as they protested the strange contortions that I made to try to rid myself of this unearthly device.

Finally, I surrendered myself. I wanted to vanish back to my home, yearning for my earlier memories of safety. Instead, I arrived again in the small bedroom of Indels Castle. My feet stumbled to the low bed. As I lay on the rough blanket, I realized that the Dragon Buster had vanished, but I still felt its invisible presence; that unseen menace. It was mine from then. Another piece slipped into place on the board. I relinquished in the battle against unconsciousness.